


Silvertongue goes to Silverstone

by spycandy



Series: A Formula for Friendship [2]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Cider, F1 - Freeform, Gen, glamping, still very silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:14:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spycandy/pseuds/spycandy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>British weather was just weird</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silvertongue goes to Silverstone

**A campsite in Northamptonshire, June 2013**

 

“I got real ale and genuine Somerset cider, which do you want?” asked Tony Stark, as he returned to the ricketty table in the corner of the Petrol Head through the jostling crowd.

“These British seem very concerned about the authenticity of their drinks,” said Loki, taking the pint of cider and grimacing as the plastic container squished, causing the liquid to slop over the brim. “Do they have some problem with fakery here?”

In fact, Stark and Loki were probably the fakest things in the barn-like pub space, given the magic currently disguising the identities of one globally recognisable billionaire and one notorious Norse god and allowing them to pass for ordinary motorsports fans attending the British Grand Prix.

The land of Somerset produced a pleasantly appley beverage however. Loki leaned back against the wall and considered the throng of humanity, most of whom were huddled in fleeces declaring their team allegiances. It was a surprisingly cold night for the middle of summer.

“So,” said Stark, breaking into his reverie, “Did you hear about Bernie asking Thor to guarantee a small thunderstorm in Spain?”

“Bernie is a devout worshipper of chaos,” said Loki, with heartfelt appreciation for the peculiar little F1 chief. “Though since the weather was fine and the race a little dull I take it Thor declined.”

“He couldn't guarantee crowd safety from the lightning.”

“They should have asked me. Perhaps I could muster a light flurry of snow at Stowe tomorrow if there's a lack of action.”

“Heh, I don't think Pirelli have any snow chains with them,” laughed Stark, then hesitated and became serious. “Don't though. Someone could get seriously hurt.”

“I did but jest Stark,” snapped Loki, whose study of the sport had now reached far enough back into history that he was alarmingly conscious of just how mortal mortal drivers really were. He had no intention of deliberately endangering drivers. Although if anyone could cope with snow on the track it would surely be a Finn with rallying experience...

There was an awkward silence, while Loki carefully pretended it wasn't an enormous temptation in order to force Stark to apologise for unfairly maligning him.

But before any such apology was forthcoming, there was an outbreak of loud rattling on the pub's tin roof. Astonished shouting erupted from near the door and there was a rush of people crowding in from the pub garden – their hair and shoulders all sprinkled with ice.

“Loki!” accused Stark.

“I did _not_ just summon a hailstorm Stark,” said Loki, who hadn't. British weather was just weird. “Why would I do such a thing when we're _camping_?”

>>>

Several pints later...

The tent was, it had to be admitted, fit for a prince. It was sizeable enough for a king on campaign, with a small stove and two comfortable camp beds. Despite the freezing weather outside, it was cosy enough in the lamplight, sitting up in bed and swaddled in blankets.

“Nightcap?”

Lying in his own bed, Stark screwed the flask lid on tightly and then rolled the container across the floor to Loki, who poured a large measure into the lead crystal goblet he had conjured in defiance of the site-wide glass ban.

“These are pretty,” said Stark, making his own glass sing by running a finger around the rim, cheerfully complicit in the petty rule-breaking.

“How have I sunk to this?” complained Loki suddenly. “Going on camping trips with an enemy to watch mortals' petty competitions?”

“Well, for one I'm pretty sure this is glamping.”

“That is not a word.”

“Oooh, I didn't know you counted linguistic prescriptivism among your many vices. Anyway, I'm sure there have been more than enough pieces in the travel pages by now for it to merit a place in the dictionary.”

Loki ignored the babble. “I meant it doesn't render into All-tongue.”

“Oh. Well then, glamorous camping – glamping. Not staying in those flimsy, damp things we walked past. And for two, not enemies. We agreed an official race weekend truce, so we can be the best of F1 buddies until Monday morning, when you can get on with villainously invading the cider apple orchards of Somerset or whatever.”

“Why would I do that? The applemen of that land are clearly my disciples already! Their drinks produce much mayhem!”

“Ooo-kay,” said Stark, and Loki got the distinct impression he was being gently humoured by someone with a modicum of experience in humouring a tipsy Thor.

“And finally. You're here because just two races after discovering this crazy sport, you loved it enough to make the sacrifice play for your team.”

“I did _what_?”

“Giving up your sponsorship to get me involved at Lotus.”

“ _That_ was masterful manipulation, not heroics,” insisted Loki.

“Whatever you say, although I note you're here sharing an, albeit rather fancy, tent with me and not in a hotel with the sponsors.” Stark yawned. “Anyway it worked – our team are putting up a serious fight for the championship so far.”

Which they were. And it was hard to argue with the fact that glamping in a frost-covered English field with a temporary 'best buddy' and a race to look forward to was just absurd enough to be quite, quite wonderful.

Or perhaps that was the cider talking, in which case he probably _should_ come up with a plan for Monday morning. Yes, Somerset and all its glorious orchards would be his and he would lead the applemen to victory over the makers of artificial cider. 

>>>

The first order of business the next morning was to buy some ear defenders, as even magic couldn't protect his tender head from the scream of engine noise.

He had nothing whatsoever to do with the mini blizzard during the formation lap. British weather was just weird.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't mean for there to be more of this!


End file.
